Menu Items for April

April brings showers and here at the Chat 'n' Chew, we're set for folks coming in to join us for homecooked goodness (and to get in out of the rain.)

This month I will be hosting special guests to the diner to give you a little glimpse into their past lives. I called in my markers and got photos from those pasts. Then, I asked them highly personal questions. Nibby questions, like who their childhood hero was and what indulgence did they remember adoring indulging in. (One liked throwing cans at bats...watch out for THAT one...)

To give you a little taste of who will be revealing all, take a look at next week's victims(-er-guests):

Monday, April 2: Mary Connealy

Mary is an author, mother of four girls and married to a farmer--all of whom she sort of used in writing her first published novel, Petticoat Ranch. She may well be one of the funniest people I know with a different sort of childhood, like having parents who pieced houses together to accomodate their large family (literally-speaking!) And she's just a good sport for putting up with me.

Wednesday, April 4: Jim Watkins
Jim is a dangerous man. And it's no wonder because he grew up that way--emulating his childhood hero. Check out Wednesday's featured guest, who grew up to write heavy topics with a light touch. He's a mentor in writing for me (and lots of others--he runs the Sandy Cove Writers Conference) and a fellow Hoosier.

Friday, April 6: Marti Suddarth

Marti is your everyday heroine in red hair. She can write a tune, play, or sermon for kids and still manage to teach in school all day, keep her family in the pampering style they have grown accustomed to, and keep Splash the Wonder Dog of beagle persuasion from raiding the neighborhood. She is one Hoosier who is more Hoosier than I am. Marti's been in my SALT critique/support group (Struggling Artists of Literary Talent) for years--and the first of my SALT Sisters to be featured.

I am hoping we'll have fun digging into the past, though not all childhood memories are good. But these things are the stuff which helped to form some pretty great people in my life. I am getting dirt, I mean, info, in daily from the likes of DiAnn Mills, Diann Hunt, Colleen Coble, Denise Hunter, Tricia Goyer, Sabrina Fox, Deb Raney, Judy Gann...and well, I could probably do this for a long time(and hope I do because I've enjoyed this.) If you find that these prompts trigger your own memories, and I haven't yet emailed you (you're probably on my list...) then please, send me your email address and I'll have you spilling the beans in no time. It'll be fun. (We'll have cornbread with it...)

And be sure to leave a comment if you have a memory from your own childhood to share with us as each person is featured.

I can't wait to get started!

And to tease you a little--Can you figure out who this cutie is(already writing?)

Growing Up

What were you like as a child? Did you have a hero? Did you have a moment where you felt proud of what you had done? Did you have a pasttime that shaped you and your future career? (By the way--I still have this dress, but I can no longer wear it...) I've shared, haphazardly, some of my childhood memories, photos here, as I've gone through some of the pictures that I inherited from my parents.

I love children--it's why I became a teacher first, and then, when I married, had children of my own. Now that my children are grown and nearly grown, I find myself looking back at my childhood--my growing up years--and looking at those things that shaped the old lady I've become (by virtue of passing a few birthdays.) I try to share some of those memories with my own boys, and now, with you.

Since I've passed a milestone--logged my 100th post--and since I'm living in the year leading up to my Jubilee year, I'm finding ways to release those things I've stayed slave to so I can accept my birthday with grace and a thankful heart. One way to do that is to celebrate childhoods. Not everyone's childhood was lollipops and lilac bushes. Mine certainly wasn't. But there is still something precious in each person--joyful--something that is worth celebrating, no matter what your circumstances in your childhood were. Because of that, I've been asking some people about their childhoods. Many have already agreed to share with us here. And I've managed to dig up a few photos.

Next Monday I hope you return here and I'll begin the posts of those I've gathered, doling them out over many weeks and months. (I'm still sending out requests and waiting for replies of some.)Maybe it will prompt you to think about your own childhood days--and find those special moments that made you into the person you are today. I'll let you know who is going to be coming up with a list.

My mother-in-law, Imy, will be 89 years old on April 1st(first born and an April Fool's gift!) She has seen so much and she remembers a lot from her growing up years. I want to share some about her this week, because she's an amazing and interesting person (and funny!) She has been a mentor to many of us. She's what is called a "notch" baby, and her son and I are baby boomers, so that right there puts us into a special relationship. She was 39 years old when she had her second child(my husband) and 41 with a two-year-old when she had her first grandchild (our Tina, niece who is like a sister.)

I hope you will enjoy reading these as much as I have. And I promise to have some photos of those persons as children/young people.

"Even a child is known by his actions, by whether his conduct is pure and right."

~~Proverbs 20:11

Big Sky, Big Thoughts

Transfiguration Chapel, Montana

Big Sky, Big Thoughts


Today is my 100th post! And in honor of that, I'm taking a trip--to Big Sky Country (that would be Montana)to talk to someone who lives there.(All by internet--ain't it a cool world?) I was in Montana right after I graduated from high school. It was gorgeous country and I loved every moment of being there--including the Saturday night on a Native American reservation. You felt as if you could walk right out on the clouds up on Going to the Sun Road. And I'll never forget Gunshot Pass or the Bighorn sheep who baaaed at us and told us to get out their way! (Yikes.)



Tricia Goyer lives in Montana and that's who I want you to know, if you don't already. No wonder she has big thoughts.

She is not that old, but yet she has been places in the world and the past. She has helped us to remember big events, and the courageous people in those events through her fiction. My favorite genre is historical fiction--and Tricia is one of my favorite authors in this area. That's why I am thrilled to be part of her blog tour with her new historical, Valley of Betrayal. While her other novels have been set in WWII (I personally know and have known WWII vets, even in my own family,)this one is set in Spain during the Spanish Civil War before WWII.


Tricia was researching her fourth World War II novel, Arms of Deliverance, when she ran across an autobiography of a B-17 crewmember. He said he made it out of German-occupied Belgium after a plane crash due to his skills he picked up as a vet of the Spanish Civil War.

Tricia said, "Reading that bit of information, I had to scratch my head. First of all, I had never heard of the war.And second, what was an American doing fighting in Spain in the late 1930s? Before I knew it, I uncovered a fascinating time in history—one that I soon discovered many people know little about. This is what I learned:

Nazi tanks rolled across the hillsides and German bombers roared overhead, dropping bombs on helpless citizens. Italian troops fought alongside the Germans, and their opponents attempted to stand strong—Americans, British, Irishmen, and others—in unison with other volunteers from many countries. And their battleground? The beautiful Spanish countryside."

Tricia is passionate when it comes to telling stories. It shows in the telling of this story of a war that lasted from July 17, 1936-April 1, 1939. Her character Sophie,an American,falls in love, and ends up in Spain right as the civil war bursts into conflict, and for reasons beyond her control, she ends up alone. The beautiful paradise rips open into a battlefield with fascist soldiers pitted against Spanish patriots. Her safety route is blocked, and she falls right into the firepit of fighting. She ends up taking refuge with a brigade of international volunteer compatriots--and she tells the story of these people through the power of her art.

This is what stood out to me--Picasso also portrayed portions of this war in his art. If you are an art afficionado, then this story will appeal to you as art is an important part of the character, Sophie. Then, there are the athletes. History fills the pages of this book and if you need to understand the times, the history of this war, this is the way to do it. Her attention to details and the history are superior.

In Tricia's words:

"On one side were the Spanish Republicans, joined by the Soviet Union and The International Brigade—men and women from all over the world who have volunteered to fight Fascism. Opposing them, Franco and his Fascist military leaders, supported with troops, machinery, and weapons from Hitler and Mussolini. The Spanish Civil War, considered the “training ground” for the war to come, boasted of thousands of American volunteers who joined to fight on the Republican side, half of which never returned home."

But in this war there wasn't that "good guys triumphing over the bad guys" because there just wasn't a clear good guy/bad guy. Both sides did horrible things. Both sides had passion for their cause. To sort out who was whom, Tricia has a glossary in the book explaining the people involved:

Loyalists—
also know as the Republicans were aided by the Soviet Union, the Communist movement, and the International Brigades. If not for the weapons and volunteers from these sources their fight would have ended in weeks rather than years. While many men fought side by side, their political views included that of liberal democracy, communism and socialism. The Catholic Basque Country also sided with the Republic, mainly because it sought independence from the central government and was promised this by Republican leaders in Madrid.

Nationalists
—or Francoists were aided mainly by Germany and Italy. The Nationalist opposed an independent Basque state. Their main supporters were those who believed in a monarchist state and fascist interests. The Nationalist wished for Spain to continue on as it had for years, with rich landowners, the military, and the church running the country. Most of the Roman Catholic clergy supported the Nationalists, except those in the Basque region.

"An estimated one million people lost their lives during this conflict, and terror tactics to civilians were common," Tricia explains. "These are the stories behind A Valley of Betrayal."

If you enjoy historical fiction, then this is one to pick up because it tells a different war story and is set in the gorgeous countryside of Spain--not to mention the descriptions of the artist's work through the character of Sophie.

The things I so like about Tricia is how responsive she is on her blogs--and how she cares so deeply about people. She's open and tells her own story throughout the blogs she keeps and you'll find her own story on Generation X Parents--there's always a story big as the sky with a love big as the sky with Other books by Tricia Goyer:
Fiction:
From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation
Night Song: A Story of Sacrifice
Dawn of a Thousand Nights
Arms of Deliverance: A Story of Promise
Night Song: A Story of Sacrifice

Nonfiction:
Generation NeXt Parenting: A Savvy Parent's Guide to Getting it Right

Life Interrupted: The Scoop on Being a Young Mom (Mothers of Preschoolers (Mops))

Big ideas and stories come from Big Sky Country--through Tricia.

Egg-zactly Spring!

EGG-ZACTLY SPRING!














This is not a trick.





Spring has OFFICIALLY arrived. This egg stood on end without assistance of any kind at exactly 8:07 p.m. in Indiana and it lasted almost 10 minutes before falling over.

Awesome,huh? My son, Max, has a science teacher who said it could be done, so he went out, stood the egg on end and it worked! When it finally fell over, no matter how he tried to stand it up, it wouldn't. Thus, spring has come. And we saw it--live, in person.

I've been dragging for a couple months. Had the flu for about two weeks. Was depressed, and feeling frumpy. I asked my girls (a group I've talked about before) for advice on a makeover. I mean, I have been in the dumpster attitude-wise. But this little experiment, demonstration, made me wonder at the awesomeness of God and the fun He must have thinking this stuff up. I almost danced with giddiness, and it was great to see Max's face when it really happened.

So, here's to Ms. Goshorn for suggesting it to her students. And here's to God for allowing me to see it happen--spring arrived and maybe I'll make it, after all.

I got this from Just a Little Smoother in Your Hand: A Little Stone blog. Kind of fun. You might get the feeling I'm a bookworm with a cheeseburger and a Coke. Hmm.

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Almost Spring

Almost Spring

Spring usually comes in staggering steps around here in Hoosierland. Today it is 70, I have the windows thrown open, and I hear little birdies who have been absent for months. My daffodils are peeking out of the soil and the buds are beginning to swell. It looks like Mudlavia around here, but most of the snow has melted. Motorcycles are roaring around, taking advantage of the window of weather.

But come Friday we are supposed to plunge back into the 30s. Probably will freeze whatever has survived thus far. A few years ago I spent this time of year in Savannah, Georgia. I made my husband click a photo (though I hate photos) in front of this gorgeous azalea bush at a gun club where we were competing. It was just plain unbelievable to me that in the same world where we had left a blizzard and measurable feet of snow, this was blooming.

So it is in life. In one part of the world it is nice and happy, and in another place it is cold and dreary. I belong to a little group of writers who have kept in touch by email for many years now(and occasionally we have critiqued one another.) Two are in California, one in Illinois, one in Georgia, one in Alaska, one in Ohio and two of us are on opposite ends of Indiana. We share our lives, the weather, prayer requests, latest writing adventures or dreams. We've done makeovers, laughed with delight, and cried when one of us has hurt. We've celebrated a wedding, an honorary doctorate, a real estate license exam passing score, two graduations from college and getting a job, book contracts, selling articles, and buying a new home.But we've also mourned deaths, loss of jobs, marriage, illnesses with close family and ourselves, and disappointments of various natures in writing.

I live in the never-ending "almost spring" lately when it comes to writing. I know that there are plenty of others who have bloomed and are living their dreams in spring and summer. I've edited quite a few of those dreams that became realities. I'm not even sure what I'm doing anymore with my own writing. And I've been so ill recently, I can't even concentrate on editing. (Hopefully, this is going to pass soon as I have several waiting.)

They say spring is coming. I'll believe it when I see it!

(I know, I know--hang in there, Crystal! I am. I think.)

I have a new blonde joke up on my web site . Click on "Blonde."

Notice Any Changes??

Tweak, tweak, find, find. I like to improve upon systems, looks, etc. I changed some things here.

First of all I added a quote up above in the header. Love that quote. It relates to my tagline: Mostly Homespun, Thoroughly Hoosier.

Next, I added a widget thingie from my friend MacroMoments' and her Photo Buffet.(Got to have a buffet in a cafe', right??) She has the best photographs, and I enjoy her insights into life that she writes on her blog. I wish I could frame her photographs and put them into my house. Maybe we'll be able to buy her photos in a book one day soon--and when that happens, I'll be the first to buy that book!

Next, my friend and fellow wordsmith, Terry Whalin, has so much to tell writers about viral marketing and about the conference he just attended--so I added the "Find this page interesting? Send this page to a friend!" that he directed readers and writers to check out. That's just fun. I'm always amazed that anyone reads this blog, and I'm always so happy to get a comment, but this invites you to share the link with a friend. Thanks, Terry!

You can get the widget from MacroMoment's blog or make your own. You can also get the "Send this page to a friend," button.


Finally, maybe you've wondered what the Feedblitz box is to the right where you can enter your email address. If you would like my blog to be delivered to your email box, this is the place to sign up. If you sign up and would rather just come to the blog (which is the only way to track the traffic and readers) then you can unsubscribe, so it's not like a forever thing. It really is just a convenience for readers. I am signed up for several of the blogs listed in my links and when I'm really busy, I just read them in my email box (and can download them.) I also know when they've made a new post.


It is a gadgety world. I love gadgets, though I don't always understand them. I like sparkles and blings and worky things. If I find anything else, I'll be sure to let you know.

By the way, be sure to check out
Christian Women Online. There are articles, other blogs (lots!) and plenty of blings and buttons. It's a fun place to explore.

Back to the Future

Do you ever wish you could go back in time? Punch a few buttons, and you're back at that pivotal moment when you could have gone this way--or that way? Where would you set the "way back" machine?

I don't think that way. Going forward is my way, but somehow in writing this blog, I am looking back. And people have said to me, "How do you remember all that stuff?" I don't know. I don't even know why I am looking back at all of those memories, except that it is what has woven me into what I am now. And I love stories.

See this Farrah Fawcett hair on this girl looking toward her future? Well, I don't feel as if I am much different from her. I still have the same personality and temperament. I still sparkle with amusement. I still flair with anger at injustice. I still talk with my eyes. (I used to have teachers and people tell me I had this trait.) My teeth have been straightened since then, and I have a scar under my lip on the left side now from a head-on collision that I surprisingly survived.

I feel a bit of change coming in this blog, however. I'm old (in case you don't know me, I look EXACTLY the same as this photo...) I am approaching my Year of Jubilee. On the one hand I am reaching forward, striving to that goal. On the other hand, well, who wants to be old? And sit around saying, "Heh, heh, I remember when I walked to class in Colorado hiking boots and a down-filled coat, uphill both ways, in the Blizzard of '78 and was glad to do it! I remember the Energy Crisis!" (Sheesh. There is nothing new under the sun.)

Some things are worse now for me. A lot of things are better. And I'm just happy to be here and glad that you are, too.

Building Blocks

Building Blocks


I like my life in neat blocks of time. I like for things to go like clockwork. It is my preference for my lists of things to do to be checked off--in order, thankewverrymuuuuch. I don't like changes in the schedule or "going with the flow." So, of course, God gave me this life that is a minute-by-minute surprise or panic. He put me in the middle of chaos and unpredictability and said, "Trust me." Ha. Well, I still struggle but He is endlessly patient. He can wait forever.

Watching my boys come to a place where they are making decisions about their futures has caused me to look back on my own life and see what kinds of building blocks of time I've stacked up. There are a few blocks I could've done without, I think. If I could go back, I might have picked up a "T" block instead of that "U" block, or I might have put the blocks in neat rows instead of circling them. God gives us these piles of blocks, and we can't use them all. We have to make choices and then do something with them.

One thing that would have helped me is if I could have found out my temperament sooner. Something about seeing the commonality in a temperament would have given me more confidence about how I felt about some choices. Some choices were made for me--I didn't have any money, and a certain college offered me full scholarship while ones I thought I wanted to attend didn't offer me much or were a lot more expensive. I had this thing about not wanting to go into major debt. As it were, the way I chose assured that I graduated free and clear. Not bad for the first person and generation college graduate on one side of my family, huh? God helped me along the way with offers of jobs right in my field of study. Doors opened and some closed, but I was blessed with opportunities in teaching when almost all of my fellow graduates ended up in another field due to lack of teaching jobs.

At one point in my teaching career I had enough. One of my students had been murdered. Others, beaten by parents, and administrators who didn't do their jobs made teaching not what I had signed up for. It was too much. I hung up my chalk and clipboard and said, "That's it. I didn't sign up for this stuff and I can't take this grief."

I contacted a school about a career in dentistry. I figured this would be a job where I could indulge my meticulous nature, work with people, but people wouldn't be dying on me. I could find ways to make a feared procedure comfortable and I'd be pleasant. Plus, I'd have great teeth.

I met with the admissions guy. He came to my apartment to talk it over with me. I don't know what I said, or what it was about me, but he told me I was exactly the kind of student they were looking for--motivated, smart with experience with people already under my belt, plus I already had a bachelor's degree. But....

There's always a "but" in your life, isn't there? He cautioned me not to make a hasty choice and change just because some bad things had happened. I assured him that I was ready for this change. I wanted to do something else. But...he discouraged me. He told me to not rush into this.

I wish I had pursued another avenue or pressed forward in this quest. My husband was in school, and we would've had to take out another loan for me, so that was strike one. I needed a job of some sort--strike two. My husband said years later that he should've pushed me to go ahead and get another degree, but he was busy and occupied at the time with his own studies.

So, I found another teaching job and it appeared to be the "perfect" place. Two years later another student was dead at the hands of his mother and that was the final straw for me--I left teaching for several years. The timing worked out as my husband had graduated, had a job that took care of the both of us, and we had our first of four boys. I took a maternity leave and didn't go back to teaching for 8 years. By the way--my first child was born on his due date--as it should be for someone like me. When I returned to teaching, it was in P.E. and that was my favorite job of all the jobs I had. Unfortunately, life's circumstances caused us to move and I didn't get to continue in that job. I flailed about for another 10 years until now after that.

But now they have tests to give you to help you make wise choices for you and your personality. I didn't discover this until a couple years ago. It won't save you from tough choices or grief-filled moments or frustrations, because no matter how "perfect" a job is for you, there will always be something that will grind your teeth. However, if you are in an environment that you "fit," it helps you to press onward and still have a love and enthusiasm, despite the hardships that just come with life. I'm too old to go back to the beginning, so I'll have to adjust according to my age, but at least I still have time as long as I'm still breathing in and out to find a few more things to do. I can now cut out the "I hate doing thats" and finally do some things I love.

If you are interested in finding out your Myers-Briggs profile, here is a link where you can take a free test. You can also pay a small fee for possible career matches or go to the Ball State University career site and see matches for your profile. They even list some possible majors that this particular university offers to give you an idea of what kind of career might suit you.

Even if you are my age, this is useful. It's helped me to assess where I have come from, and then, has helped me in deciding "what next?" for me. It has allowed me to understand certain people in my life so I can better respond to them. Plus, I am more able to help others find their path, which probably satisfies a part of me that wasn't quite fulfilled. It's all for the good.

What's Your Name?

Well, what do you want it to be?

If I remember right, these are lines from the movie,Pretty Woman when the two main characters first meet. It's transformation, Cinderella-love story where a hooker, living hand-to-mouth, enters the life of a millionaire one evening when he was "lost." Not only does he change her life, she changes him. And she doesn't change him into something he's not--she brings back the "real" him--the man who wants to build things, create things. Up until this point, he's been spending his whole career tearing things down in revenge because his father never recognized him for who he was, and tore him down. And she, who had been living a life that made her constantly pretend to be who she wasn't, would morph into "whatever" the fantasy of the person using her desired. She was dying in this lifestyle, but so was he.

This week one of my sons has been exploring who he is, and what kind of life's work he's been called to doing. He started off in an area that seemed perfect for him, but after two years he explained to my husband and me that he wants "to help people and work with people," not being alone doing his own thing as the path of the major he was in was leading him to be. So, we arranged for him to be tested and he'll talk to a career counselor. This counselor will in turn offer suggestions based on an interview and his answers to the over 500 questions on how he thinks, how he feels about circumstances, his real choices and what makes him joyful. He has to think about lifestyles and environments of work and how he would like them to be in his own life.

As we went through some of the questions, I couldn't help thinking that I wish I could've had this kind of assistance when I was his age. And also, I got to know my son in a deeper way than I ever have known him before, despite the fact that there were some questions I knew the answer to before he even voiced it. I thought I knew him better than anyone, but there were still things to be learned about him.

But despite age, and being in circumstances you don't think you can change, as long as you have breath and mind, you can adjust your lifestyle into who you really are. Don't let people try to mold you into what their image of you is; be transformed, renew your mind into what you were called and meant to be, despite your past. I think that is the true message in the movie, Pretty Woman. In this movie he asks her at the end--"What happened when he saves her?" She answers, "She saves him right back." They help each other to become better people. Their lives change for the good.

You might think it is too late, but you have to move forward right now from where you are. Be brave. Make one change. It could be in your volunteer work or it could be a career change,a lifestyle change or it could be changing where you live. The one thing it shouldn't be--changing and leaving people devastated and hurt in your quest. But don't be miserable or contribute unhappiness to people in your life because you didn't get to play guitar as a kid, or you couldn't take art classes. Eliminate the "drains" in your life. And then, find one thing that feeds your soul so you can give back to the people in your life. Pretty Woman character Vivian does this--she talks to her roommate and fellow hooker and builds her up, gives her a "scholarship" in life to make positive changes.

I am a Christian. In the Bible there is a verse that is based in Jewish culture that says, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not turn from it." (Proverbs 22:6) This proverb has been interpreted a lot of ways by my fellow Believers in raising children, and by the Jewish people, too, but I think it's not only about your spiritual life--but your entire lifestyle. People have a way of separating their job-life from their spiritual life. After all, where I live, you are not supposed to mix "church and state." I say this is fundamentally impossible to do, because eventually one or the other system will collapse. It is core to your value system. What you train up your child into is your value system. I'm not saying that you have to wear your spiritual life on your sleeve or subject people to it in an aggressive manner--I'm saying it's not like fashions you put on or take off according to the occasion--it is a part of who you are, your fabric of your life, your DNA, despite the window dressings, your culture.

So, my son was answering these questions and it tells a story about him. He is like this not because I raised him this way, because he has three brothers who are distinctly different from him, and we raised those boys the same way. But all four boys have the same value system. We also raised each one in the way they should go by offering them experiences in their strengths or preferences. He is a certain way, a certain temperament. He can "pretend" he is something else by participating in an activity because someone pressures him to do it. He can even live his life a way differently from who is he, but until he is doing things in the way of his temperament, he will either collapse, or he will become ill, or be very unhappy. Training him up in the way that he should go involves more than discovering his spiritual gifts and how he fits into the family of God, giving him his value system--it also involves what he should be doing in his life's work and how he should be spending his days, his life.

Eventually the lifestyle that comes with the job is going to cause a collapse if it is not "you." Either physically, mentally or spiritually something will collapse, if your temperament isn't jiving with the way you are spending your time.

So, what is your temperament? Where do you want to be this time next year?

Snow Day




I have a friend who lives where they don't see snow. She wistfully made the comment that she wished that she could have a day like I just had where she could be "snowed in." I was quick to point out all the hazards and worries I had about this kind of treacherous weather because our family is all too aware of the dangers, and have to get out in it to help. But.

She triggered memories of the days when I didn't worry about those things (like semi-trucks jackkniving on the interstate or freezing to death, or frost bite or electricity going out and not being able to get to the loved one.Yeah, my brain has been adultatized. Kill me.)

It started with her comment--then my husband and I went outside to assess the huge drifts of snow after the blizzard stopped. Our cars were blocked in, and we wanted to see if our new snow blower would do the job. And how it did! Before it was all over, we were fighting each other to blow out the driveway with that snow blower. If a huge snowblower on a tractor manned by a local farmer neighbor hadn't shown up coming down our rural one-lane county road, I'm not so sure we wouldn't have blown out all the snow on the road, too. It was...yeah, ok, fun! My husband joked that the snow blower was my Valentine's Day present, and frankly, it was the most fun I'd had in a while.

I found this photo above of my boys from several years ago when we had a similar blizzard with drifts over 6 feet high, and they thought it was the most fun thing that had ever happened to them. My memories flew back to when I was their age looking at this photo, fueled by my California friend's comment, and our snow blowing fun.

The small Christian school I attended from 1st to 5th grade only had two rooms for 8 grades. Our teachers were a couple--the man taught 5th-8th and the lady taught 1st-4th. We were like a big family. And when we were at school and the snow was piled to the rooftop, Mr. Clayburn said we should build a snowman at recess. But it wasn't just any snowman--it was the abominable snowman! He was over 8 feet tall when we got done and the newspaper sent a photographer to save it for all times and show everyone else. Except, I don't know what happened to that photograph. We were really proud and probably every one of us kept that memory. At least I hope so.

I remember snow forts and huge snowball fights with Phil and Rick and Susan and Karen and Mary Beth. It was a blast! But one time I threw a snowball at the retreating losers, Rick and Phil, as they ducked into the garage. They shut the door just as I let it fly. Smack! Yep. It went right through the glass. I sat there on the icy ground, behind the walls of our fort, and I was so upset, the walls began to melt. Or at least seemed to. I just knew I was grounded for all time. I tredged slowly to the house, went straight to my dad and told him what I'd done.

He got on his snow gear--boots, coat and that toboggan hat that made him look like a lumberjack, and carefully picked up pieces of glass from the ice. Then, he went to town, bought a new glass and installed it himself. I hung around there like I was at a funeral home. Didn't want to be there, but I stuck around anyway. I kept waiting for him to yell at me, saying,"What are you! Dumb? Didn't you know that a snowball would break the glass? Don't you know that costs money? Didn't you know it was a foolish thing to do?" (Well, my dad didn't exactly talk like this, but it was filtered through my own voice in my head, chewing me out...chewing me out in my own chastising way.)

He never did chew me out. He just grinned and fixed the window. He said, "All fixed." He never yelled. Never lectured me. He didn't even say, "Don't do that anymore." He didn't beat me, smack me, but also he didn't yell. Or even correct me.I mean, I was pretty much perfect, but even I needed someone to tell me I'd done wrong once in a while.

I never understood why he didn't get mad back then, and it wasn't until one day when I was older that I "got it." You know. That age that your mother predicted as, "Just wait until you are a mom!"? And at that time I remembered another story--my dad telling a really funny story to us about how when he was a little boy, and how crazy he was about Superman.

He had seen a movie in the theater and just was wild about Superman--pretending he was Superman all the time. He was jumping and "flying" off this and that, and one day he climbed up on the chicken coop. With cape flying he flew right off the roof. He landed on his back on a "stob"(which was some cut off small tree stump.) It knocked the wind out of him and he couldn't breathe.

His dad ran over, stood over him saying, "Are you all right? Can you breathe?" Dad said he gulped for air and finally said, "Yessir, I think I'm getting my 'breaf' back." (Dad was very Southern and this was more how he talked.) Dad had a way of telling the most horrific story with humor and a twinkle in his eye--like it was actually funny. Then, he went on with the "kicker:"

"As soon as I got to my feet, Daddy kicked my butt all over the yard."

His daddy was so upset about him nearly killing himself, that he beat him to emphasize not to ever do that again. Yeah.

My dad had his own major faults, but one thing he did magnificently--he broke the abuse cycle passed from father to kids. He corrected us without beating us half to death, or for that matter, at all. And he was able to fit the punishment with the crime. I'm not even sure how he did this--unless it was my mother's influence on him, or the fact that he never wanted to treat us like his dad treated him.

And before you go thinking how horrible my Granddaddy was--he, too, broke his bad habits as he aged, and I didn't know this part of him. I think my mother influenced him, too.

Snow day. I have a lot of stories about snow, snow play, and blizzards. I've told them to my kids, and my kids have their own stories, too. I warned them not to throw snowballs at windows, but I did it with a smile, and they have never known beatings like my dad endured--and neither have I.

1000 Gifts

480. snow blower!
481. electricity
482. snow plows getting us out so we can go to the store,etc.
483. my warm, plush navy blue slippers and gray robe
484. hot coffee
485. a husband who can "fix" things
486. kids who take the dog out in the cold so I don't have to
487. games to play
488. nice comments from readers because they are nice people
489. my green hoodie sweatshirt from Mackinac
490. friends and family who get together with us
491. modern medicine
492. Sears, which has "everything"
493. nearby Menard's
494. music to play or listen to
495. boys who aren't too old to hug mom
496. Lipton green tea
497. mail! (didn't have it for two days...)
498. books that come right in the mail and I don't have to go out to find something to read
499. newspapers! (didn't get one for two days...)
500. tv station reporters who get out in the worst weather and let you know what's going on with the weather and what to avoid

Describe


I have a journal book that I've had for years called A Family Legacy for Your Children: Reflections from a Mother's Heart: Your Life Story in Your Own Words.I'm just now getting around to writing responses in it according to the prompts. I'm having a hard time.


James Thurber said in his book, My Life and Hard Times (my favorite book, by the way...):
"Benevenuto Cellini said that a man should be at least forty years old before he undertakes so fine an enterprise as that of setting down the story of his life. He said also that an autobiographer should have accomplished something of excellence. Nowadays nobody who has a typewriter pays any attention to the old master's quaint rules."
This makes me laugh. What would James Thurber think of blogdom? (I think he'd definitely be in the thick of the blog world. He died in 1961, though.)

Well, I have not accomplished much of "excellence" according to the world at large, but I do qualify according Cellini's age requirements. So, I have been inclined lately to write down some thoughts in that "legacy" journal for my boys. Did I say that I'm having a hard time? I really fit more into James Thurber's book and memories--and could probably find more prompts there to instigate my memories.

I was particularly struggling over this one: "Describe your mother in her best dress."

Yes, my mother had a lot of dresses at various points in her life, so no problem there. Before the fabulous late '60s/early '70s, that's probably all she wore were dresses--even at home. Every photo I have of her in black and white, she is wearing a dress. But I don't remember her dresses. I have a hard time even thinking of her in dress in my memories of life with her. She wore shorts, pedal pushers, slacks--she was always sporty and tall and thin. I couldn't remember. I stared at that page for a long time. It upset me that I couldn't remember her in dresses because I know she wore them for special occasions and church. And she was very conscious of her appearance, though she wore minimal make up and jewelry, she always looked "movie star"ish. She had an Audrey Hepburn flair, but looked more like Kim Novak. (Ok, you people are going to say, "Who?" ha)

Then, I found this photo. I remember her agonizing over choosing this dress. Shopping with her sister for hours. It was the mother of the groom dress for my brother's first marriage. The marriage didn't last, but I remembered the dress--I have this dress in my special trunk where I keep my own wedding dress, my "going away" dress and various keepsakes of that sort. I have this dress. I couldn't part with it because I thought she never looked more beautiful to me as she did in this dress. Maybe I was emotionally sentimental at the time. There were lots of issues going on that time and I was very, very big with my pregnancy of our second son.

If anyone would pull this dress out of my trunk at my death, they wouldn't have a clue as to why I have it. So, maybe I'll put this blog with it.

However,the last dress I ever bought for my mother is the one I remember emotionally with great detail.

Mom died on a Saturday in her chair. She was on home oxygen, her heart had moved to the center and slightly to the other side of her chest because she didn't have a lung on that side anymore, so her health was deteriorating. She had already lived well past what doctors had predicted. She had ordered a navy blue and white dress because she had determined that she was going to go to church with me, my family and her husband--my father--the next day. It hung in a back spare bedroom on the door. She had a long, pleasant conversation on the phone with my uncle, her youngest brother, and then quietly slipped away into Jesus's arms, sitting in her chair. She never wore the navy and white dress. I can't remember what she was wearing in that chair. Some sort of nondescript house coat. It was her "Sabbath," as she always believed in worshipping God on Saturday.

I just couldn't bury her in that dress, because in my mind I had a certain look I wanted to accomplish for her final appearance in this earthly, broken body. So, I went shopping. My sister-in-law, Melba (my husband's sister who has gone with me on many of these kinds of journeys) went with me. She didn't say much, just mostly held my hand. The best kind of person to have in times like this.

I bought mom a pink dress with a beautiful brocade jacket with burgundies and pinks and gold and silver blue roses in it. It went beautifully with her white satin-lined casket with the pink roses embroidered in the lid. It was pink.

My aunt asked me what I had gotten mom to bury her in when I returned from dropping the items off at the funeral home. This is quite important in my family. When I told her, she said, "Oh, what'd you do that for? Her favorite color was blue!" and I nearly broke down into tears at her harsh, critical comment, but I'm one of those people who is stubborn and stoic. I just said, "Because she'll look beautiful in it."

I had no idea how she would look in it. When I had last seen my mother, she looked ill and pasty white and was sitting up in her chair, not there anymore. The warmth of her essence gone and my image of her into another etheral dimension. She was dead. I stroked her hands and her hair of her dead body. It just wasn't her. She had certainly changed from the tall, very good-looking and kind-hearted humorous mother I always knew. But she looked so peaceful. A final expression on her face that was her. So, my thought was she looked fabulous in pink, so I would bury her in pink.

Just so I do not leave you with a horrible last thought of my aunt (my dad's sister,) you have to understand that my aunt was grieving, and she had been friends with my mother longer than I had been on earth. She had her own memories of dresses and my mom's appearance. In the funeral home when just the family went into the casket room prior to opening up the viewing to the public, my aunt put her arm around me and leaned into me and said, "She looks beautiful. The pink was a good choice."

There is always a story to go along with simple exercises like these. Describe your mother in her best dress. If you have 10 siblings, I bet you'd get 10 different responses to this question because every person has their own memories, own image of someone dear to them in their mind. I can't even imagine what my boys would say about my appearance if they had to answer this question. (I'm a little worried, as a matter of fact, of what they would say!)

So, I am not sure what my response is to this prompt. Maybe just simply, "The dress was pink."

Questions to Answer for Future Generations






Both of my parents, my Granddaddy Warren, and grandparents Pierson are all dead. Now that I've reached that age that I thought my grandparents, or for that matter, my parents, were "old," I think a lot more about what I want to convey to my own boys. It's an awesome responsibility to reach the age of "what happened, what should've happened, and what will happen if you repeat past generations errors." Yeah.

For example, I can see a lot of my dad and my Granddaddy Warren in one of my sons(he even looks like my dad at the same age)--and frankly, that is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. On one hand, I might get to witness what my dad would've been like if he'd just made a few better choices or had better opportunities and circumstances like my son has. On the other hand, I'm worried my son will repeat and walk the same paths as my dad, going the hard way.

So, I've been trying to tell my boys stories. We are big storytellers on both sides of my family. On my mom's side are stories of humor, heartbreak, genius and fortitude/perseverence, faith. On my dad's side--well, there might be a bit of blarney in those genes, but it's also filled with mysteries and cover ups, fiction treachery, faith, overcoming obstacles, as well as enduring tragedies. It's the mysteries that intrigue me the most. I want to ask a lot of questions. Sometimes I wonder if it is best to just let those mysteries fade away--but of course, being terminally curious, I want to know. And I think it is time my boys know these stories, too.

I have a platter that belonged to my great grandmother. It belonged to my dad's grandmother. It's discolored and cracked, but you can tell it has blue trim and was probably cream-colored. They gave it to my dad because she used to serve chicken and dumplings on that platter and that was my dad's favorite meal. But then, he was so poor growing up in the Depression, any kind of meal with meat was great. He said one time that he thought at one point during his childhood that he never wanted to see another bean or tater his entire life.

But of course, when he grew up, he loved beans and taters and a skillet of cornbread and I think it was a bit nostalgic for him--especially since he could afford steak when he grew up. Someone looking at that platter might think it was trash, but I honor it in my china cabinet. It tells a story, and really, more of a story of my dad, than anything else.

I have tons of stories to tell my kids about my own growing up. I hope they will pass these stories on their kids. There are some questions you should ask now, if you still have your parents. Here're some examples:

When do you first remember making your faith in God your own? How did it come about?

Tell me about your grandparents. What is your best memory of them? Did you see them a lot or never? What did they do? What did they enjoy?

What are your special memories of your siblings?

Did you pray before you went to sleep? What kind of prayer did you pray?

What did you dream of being/doing when you grew up?

If you could do anything differently, what would it be?

I'm sure you can think of your own questions. And then, don't forget to answer some of these questions yourself to pass along to your own kids or your own family or even to share with readers. These are the kinds of things I'd like to share with you, too.

One of the things I wish I had known to ask my parents would be about their temperament preferences. I can guess on some things because I thought I knew them well, but what if they had hidden some things well? What if they took to their graves things about themselves that I would never know?

And these are the kind of questions that make for a good brainstorm session for developing a fictional story.

Tony Dungy: Family First

"Family First"

We're riding high here in Indiana with our Indianapolis Colts winning the Super Bowl. And we're proud of the team members in more than just that they finally won--we're proud of them as just people. At the heart of the team is a man who on his web site has this right at the top of his page: "Family First." It speaks volumes about Tony Dungy as a person.

I hope that Peyton Manning, Tony Dungy and the whole Indianapolis team are enjoying their win and taking a small break from the pressure-cooker NFL atmosphere. I watch ESPN everyday (when I was growing up, I wanted to be a sports writer--no kidding. ha! and was the sports editor of my high school newspaper) so I know analysis about this year, as well as predictions about next year, are ongoing.



Check out Tony's site, even if you don't follow football. It's a story of a winner, but also someone of deep faith, abiding triumph over sorrows and quiet dignity.

* * * ************











1000 Gifts




Back in November I joined with other Christian Women Online to list my 1000 Gifts. Thinking about our daily gifts is good, but something about writing them down makes you appreciate them even more.





447. Indianapolis Colts won the Super Bowl!
448. The people on the team and their role model lives
449. a warm house despite the frigid cold outside
450. the car my son drives didn't wreck when he had a blow out (his alert skills to bring it safely to the side of the road, and to change the tire safely)
451. antibiotics
452. Bryce is getting better
453. a freezer full of food
454. Chapter After Chapter: Discover the Dedication & Focus You Need to Write the Book of Your Dreams by Heather Sellers
455. Supportive husband
456. a "honey" for Valentine's Day next week
457. Buddy Jewell's music
458. down comforter
459. Harley Davidson boots
460. indoor bathrooms and running water
461. sunshine--yesterday--and a hope that it will return
462. snow plows and salt for the road
463. crockpots for when I'm busy
464. Max thinking seriously about choosing a profession (he's 16)
465. Jordan with a firm eye on his future
466. a tough family through the generations
467. a wonderful email yesterday
468. good friends who are like family
469. cough medicine that works
470. clips for my wild hair
471. Midnite Mauve Mary Kay Lipstick! (I almost look alive)
472. Lee Warren's thoughts on sympathy and mourning
473. the hope of spring
474. my "Lamb's Ears" I didn't cut down last fall which are sticking up through the snow in soft green
475. fat squirrels that come out to taunt my dog, Lizzie (keeps her heart healthy...)
476. bananas and yogurt
477. limes for my ice water
478. coffee--hot and full of caffeine
479. tinkling sound of wind chimes

OK, I admit it.






I live in Indiana. You may have heard about our football team. The one spending a few days in Florida with our neighbors, these growly Bear creatures gearing up for Sunday night. Our house is a bit divided on the outcome issue, however. Some are true navy blue and orange fans--and some would like to see Peyton Manning, Tony Dungy and those baby horses in true blue and white bring home the trophy. I'm not telling you who I think I'd like to see in the winners' circle, because, well, I love all the guys. No favoritism shown.

I've played sports (if you go by the photo, all of my life!) I've coached teams, played on teams, taught the fundamentals of sports and coached a team which won a championship. Fun times. If I compete any now, it's laid back and I don't really care anymore if I win or lose.

One of my "team members" in trapshooting is in a major competition coming up in a few days. He is undergoing a surgery to harvest his stem cells and then will have them replaced by some they got from him many years ago in case he got to this place--the place where cancer is trying to win. This place is the competition for survival. I'm praying hard. I don't know the outcome of this game, but I do have an idea of what is on the other side if he loses. There was no one who was found that matches him, or they'd be transplanting from a friend or family member.

He is a veteran and can make the most beautiful carved wood pieces. He is brilliant, reads prolifically, masters crosswords easily, funny, talented in shooting and making guns, knows everything about black powder shooting and the lifestyle of pioneers, and he brought many a person through surgery as a nurse anesthetist. He is huge--a giant guy who raised two smart kids and has two grandkids, as well as a wife we call the "Saint." He's the son of a former U.S. Marshall. If you think about it, pray for Ken on Feb. 6.

* * *

I told you in the previous post that I love the movie, Groundhog Day. Well, today IS Groundhog Day and The Groundhog didn't see his shadow, which means according the experts that spring is sooner rather than later. I hope so! If he had come out here, he would've seen his shadow, which means 6 more weeks of winter. I saw a fat squirrel sitting on a branch outside my porch window eating a nut. I figure maybe soon isn't that far-fetched.

In my dad's family nicknaming people is rampant. My dad's nickname was "Groundhog." Maybe that's why when I see a groundhog I think of him and all the family fun and foolery that happens when there is laughter, a bit of teasing and good times. I remember my dad's family being warm and welcoming, loving you for who you were. It didn't stay that way, but back when it was, it was heavenly.

I didn't get a nickname from family. I'm not sure why. Well, they did shorten my name because they didn't really care for my real name. They still call me this, even though I married a guy with the same name, so he always called me by my given name, but they won't.

Names and nicknames are intriguing to me. Some of my girlfriends in high school gave each other nicknames. Mine was "Beanpole" and "Crissy Woman" and I'm still not sure how that happened. When I see those girls, I still get called by my nicknames and I can't help but call them by theirs.

On Groundhog Day I'm allowed to meander in topics and thinking. Give me a break. I've got a lot on my mind. How about you?

Every day is a new day....

even if it seems like the same ol', same ol'. One of my favorite movies is Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray and Andie McDowell. This total creep of a sleaze weatherman gets a great gift--to live the same day, Groundhog Day, over and over and over. Day after day, the same things happen, the same town, the same lines, the same people. You get to see how his reactions, attitudes on those days changes things, but most of all changes him. In one part of the movie, Phil tries to change the outcome of a man dying. He is able to save quite a few people around town, but this one man dies day after day and he finally realizes that he can't change this--but he does make the day better for the old man. I love that movie.

So, each day I do try to live better than the last, even if that day appears crummy, like today (cold, bad roads, snowing, family getting sick,etc.) I was especially thinking about this last night when my husband came home from taking the boys to their guitar lessons and told about a minor thing that happened to him.

He went to a downtown pharmacy while they were in their lessons, and said that while standing in the checkout line, he got out some change and dropped a penny. There was a long line,and a woman picked up his dropped penny and did something you don't expect--she pocketed it! Now, one penny is nothing, really. So what? But think about this for a moment--what would make a woman pocket a dropped penny right in front of the person who dropped it? What kind of a person does this?

I came up with a brainstorm of possibilities:

1. She is desperate. This penny will be the difference for her starving children.
2. She actually did not see him drop it and thought it was just lying there. A penny found is a penny earned.
3. She thought she dropped it herself.
4. "Oooooooh! It's so shiny!" (That's blonde inside the scalp...)
5. "Just one penny a day will save a young boy who has no food and no school books in Outer Siberia."
6. "Wow! A real old penny! I'm hoarding mine for when they discontinue pennies!"
7. "The old coot will never miss this."
8. "Mooooo haaaahhahahahahahahahahaa! I'm rich! Rich! Rich beyond my dreams!"
9. "Find a penny, pick it up, then all day you'll have good luck."
10. "Meh."

Two and three were the most generous thoughts, really, that I could think of for her. Regardless of what good you would do with the penny, it wasn't yours to begin with, no matter how small the amount. Thinking that you could do more good with someone else's money is arrogance. I tend to be cynical. Mostly, I just kept thinking, "What kind of a person doesn't offer to give anything dropped back to the person who dropped it??!"

I am afraid that I wrote into my brain something about the stinginess and moral decline of society(and especially this woman.) I compared her to the generation who would give the shirt off their backs, the last of their stone soup and a ride into town during the '30s, '40s, '50s. I thought of the European generation which hid Jews from the Nazis, feeding and clothing them, at risk to themselves and their families. I thought of those Midwestern people(a many who had lived in my community) who hid runaway slaves in their walls, giving them shoes off their own feet, warm clothing and food for the cold trip north, and risking life and livelihood for what was right. I think about countless others who just picked up the penny or the grocery list you'd dropped and smiled and said, "Hey, you dropped this."

I thought of one more thing. One of girls I knew in college had the opportunity to go to Russia with a singing troupe. Some of them took their one Bible they were allowed for personal use on the trip, and each decided to conveniently "forget" it on a bench or somewhere. (Their personal Bible happened to be in Russian and this was before the fall of Communism.) The girl I knew left her Bible on a bench and walked away, feeling pretty good about her act and that someone might actually find it and it would change their life. Well, as soon as she left it behind, someone snatched it up...and ran after her! "Hey, you forgot this! (you dumb American!)" She wasn't prepared for this. She wasn't prepared for someone actually having a sense of moral kindness in a country at that time that was full of poverty, moral decay, no God--theft and killings and suicide. It was a funny lesson to learn.

As you read the headlines, bump into someone who cusses you out for tripping into them, and a multitude of other angry, selfish, bitter actions we see too often, you wish you had the power of granting Groundhog Days to a lot of people. You might even wish you could have a few Groundhog Days of your own.

_________________________________________

You might have noticed, if you've read this blog for very long, that I have made a few changes to the page and format. My blog is the one place where I can actually do a Groundhog Day kind of thing. It's a great feeling to be able to change things and I needed a pick-me-up (especially a good time to do it since I needed to change over to the new blogger.)



I like finding new systems. Improving on the old systems. Systems, systems--what works and what doesn't? So, go ahead and comment--like the old look? Like the new?

1000 Gifts....

I am behind on counting my 1000 gifts that I started with Christian Women Online. I need to count a few gifts today.

Also, I have tried to change over to the new blogger format. Sigh. Not sure this is working, but I'm trying to stay up-to-date.

417. my birthday boy, Jordan (on the 25th, 2nd from left)

418. laughing at dinner over kids' stories

419. the great sense of humor that all my "guys" have (all five of them)

420. friends

421. the privilege to stop to pray for someone grieving

422. beautiful cards that I can pick out in the store or online to send that help me to say what I mean when I'm not sure what to say

423. Lynn and her fast wit

424. Karen's cookbook sharing!

425. the color royal blue

426. Tina and Chris and our new jackets

427. Judy's great email (hi!)

428. Sabrina always dropping in to say she cares

429. anticipation of Jan. 31 and seeing 3 good friends

430. all the band contest doors are filled! (I'm a band mom)

431. safe and sound boys

432. a husband who takes care of us

433. a special delivery Kringle from Wisconsin from two authors (yum!)

434. Colts and Bears in the Super Bowl!

435. Fuze (have you tried it? I like tangerine grapefruit)

436. a new recipe

437. garlic mashed potatoes

438. very warm hat, scarf, gloves in royal blue

439. hard-working boys

440. a book package from AMG Publishers

441. red foxes running around in the woods

442. the call of the red-tailed hawk in my woods

443. red poppy seeds in the mail for spring

444. gardening magazines

445. Lauraine Snelling's new cookbook

446. Bonnie's gorgeous photos that bring joy

Technology is Only a Generation Away...


This photo was taken when I was a little girl and my brother was just a baby. These are my Warren grandparents--my dad's parents--who had come up to Indiana from Tennessee to see the "new baby" and to get a dose of me (they had kept me for several years when my mother was ill in a Ft. Wayne TB hospital in the 1950s, so I was "their" baby, too.)

Now, this was big stuff. You got into this booth and a camera would take a photo. You put money into a slot and out would come a roll of small photos. You can tell we are all rather crammed into the booth, but they took home some photos and we kept some. That was big time technology back then.

Today I got photos from across the world in a matter of seconds. I can download them onto my computer, print them off or save them to a flash drive no bigger than a thumb (and is in fact called a "thumb drive.") My grandmother in this photo is now 92 and she has seen amazing jumps in technology.(Getting an indoor bathroom with toliet, indoor running water and a bath was a big deal--I remember when they put it into her house...) I was able to put together a nostalgic photo album by printing copies from my computer that I had scanned into the hard drive and take her on a trip down memory lane. (And me, too.) So, I've been thinking a lot about things used to be in comparison to how it is now.

I cannot even imagine what the technology will be when my boys are parents and I'm a grandparent--or even when they are grandparents! I remember the first time mom took moving pictures. Once she got that camera,she was always shining this bright light into our eyes (you would go temporarily blind) and all the films have people with one hand across their eyes, and the other out in front of their faces trying to get her camera out of their faces like a movie star and unwelcome papparazzi.( was just able to check the spelling of that word with the touch of a button.) They smiled, but in an annoyed kind of way. That didn't stop my mother. She loved filming family events. We laughed until we cried looking at some of those old movies.

Now my boys (from the time they were in elementary school) have all kinds of films and know more about filmmaking than the movie directors of the 1950s. They put together all kinds of productions for class projects. They put stuff up on Power Points and can do graphics that would have taken me days, or maybe weeks, to hand draw.

But I look at this photo and I remember. I remember one moment in time, one that I have kept all of these years. I still have the same sentimental feeling for these people and though one of them has died, I can keep it until the day I die, and pass it on to my family. Someday someone will say, "Now I wonder who those people were?" and will toss it into the trash. Or maybe someone will keep it as an example of antique technology of the early 1960s.

But right now I'm sharing it using technology and theoretically, anyone in the world with a computer could see it.

Remembering is a wonderful thing, and little prompts are nice to have.

Sally Pierson Dillon: Meet Me at the Half-up Party

Party Half-way Up

Sorry. Haven't posted a blog for a couple weeks. Amongst kids' events, flu and work, I suddenly grew quite melancholy. My cousin, Sally Jo, died from pancreatic cancer. She had suffered with lupus for years, often landing in hospitals, nearly dying, but never quite giving up. With a spirit that reminded me of my mother, she would fight on. Then, came the cancer. It was a battle she couldn't win in this life.

So, I thought I would be too sad in any post I would write. I just couldn't seem to get past it. I couldn't go to the "celebration of life" that they had after her funeral, so I just couldn't seem to find any closure. She was younger than I am. She had published quite a few children's books, articles and children's Bible lessons. She taught Bible classes and often spoke when she was able. She even got up and spoke at my mother's funeral. Her father, a pastor and man who had spent many years in Africa, England and then back to the states as a missionary, and her tough-minded mother had raised her around the world (along with her two little sisters, one who was born in Africa.) Back in those days her dad would record a tape (instead of writing a letter) and send them to my mother.We'd sit at the kitchen table with photos he'd send and imagine their lives in Africa. Amazing stories. Stories of adventure and danger and God's amazing grace. My mother and her dad were close in age as brother and sister, and also in heart. They were the two youngest of 11 children born to Aaron Pierson.

Sally was a wild teenager. She was brilliant and like most imaginative and passionate people in youth, she wanted to try everything. She graduated from high school at 16 in England and came to the states to go to college. It was more freedom than she had ever experienced. Somehow, God in His plans and mercy, allowed her to live through those turbulent years. She rededicated her heart and soul to God. And boy, when she did, look out! She never lost her heart for the rebellious teens of the world. All that passion and exhuberance went into raising her two sons (after she had gotten married,) and into her nursing career. Then, she started writing.

The one article that I remember the most was in this column she used to write for a Christian magazine. The column was called "Sally Sez" and it was full of her typical humor. This article was about when we die how we wait until God calls us and the dead in Christ rise first, and meet with the others in the sky "half-way up." She talked about when we all met up together we'd party right there in the sky, "half-way up" on the way to meeting up with Jesus. At my mother's funeral she talked about doing this very thing with my mother one day. It sounded like a lot of fun--and Sally was all about fun.

Her suffering was tremendous in this life as an adult, but she didn't lose her humor or her spirit of vitality and zip. I know for sure that when I get to that party I will recognize her. She won't be in the body that she left earth in. She'll have her fun and party body on.

And thinking about it in that way makes me smile. I can still picture her in pedal pushers (you have to be a certain age to know what those were...) hanging upside down on the swing set in my cousin Mary's backyard, yelling like a warrior and turning cartwheels when she'd finally fall to the ground. Eyes sparkling and freckles all over her face, she would've given Dennis the Menace a run for his money. That is how I choose to remember her in this life. And that is the spirit I'll recognize at the Big Sky Party on the way to Jesus.

Taking Care of Business--TCB

Elvis Aron Presley was born on January 8, 1935 in Mississippi. He was a twin. His twin brother was stillborn, and of course, the rest is history. How does this relate to me? Ok, maybe you didn't know this about me, but I'm a big fan of his music. And I've been to Graceland. I lived in Tennessee for a short time. I play guitar (not as much these days.) I've performed on stage in front of, well, an audience. I have a pink Cadillac (it is inches long and sits on my shelf...)

So, on January 8th every year, I celebrate (a little) and think of how someone who wasn't privileged, but just had guts AND talent AND perseverence, became one of the all-time greats in American music.

My family is heavily involved in music, but to almost all of us, it's a hobby or pleasure that we engage in for fun. (No one has quit their day jobs yet.) My oldest son has the "talent" and we'll see if it becomes a part of his own story. (I know for a fact that he plays every day--I hear him.)

If you love Elvis' music, too, then you understand this post. If you think of him only in light of his weaknesses, then you missed the real story. It's an All-American story of working hard with passion and faith.

So, here's to you, Elvis.

Happy Birthday to my cousin Annette and to Ryder, too.
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1000 Gifts....

401. Delia and her Gatorskunkz and Mudcats
402. sunshine! Lots of it!
403. Jared's art
404. Elvis's music and voice
405. Memphis
406. My family and their dedication to music
407. my washer and dryer in the house
408. my cousin Annette
409. my Tennessee family
410. pink Cadillacs (even if mine is small)
411. internet
412. down comforter
413. heat
414. light dusting of snow and clear roads
415. did I mention sunshine?
416. my melodic chimes, blowing in the wind and making music

Peace with Purpose


"We need to be at peace with our past, content with our present, and sure about our future, knowing they are all in God's hands." Joyce Meyer




January always brings several things for me: evaluation of the old year, plans for the new year, weight and workout angst, diet evaluation, what can I do better questions, relationship evaluations. How ‘bout you? I’m a naturally introspective person, so this is nothing new, but we should look at where we have been and where we are going. The one thing I haven't had in the past is "peace" with myself. Over and over again this word keeps coming up, so I know it is something that will be a theme for me for 2007.

Which leads me to discuss my less-than-peaceful existence with myself.
I guess you can call me an expert in diet, foods, exercise and health. Not that I practice or am the picture of health. Oh, no. But I qualify in that I have read everything in that area. I have over 200 books on the subject and subscribe to several magazines about it. And yes, I actually read them, study them. I was a P.E. teacher for two years and coached some, too. I completed a boot camp course—3 times. I have been in topnotch shape—and not so topnotch shape (like now.)

That is why when I saw a link to Prevention magazine’s article/quiz, “What Is Your Exercise Personality?” (the link is at the end of this--hang with me)that I had to follow it. I took the quiz. After years and years of trying every diet, every exercise regimen, being an athlete, and searching for how I work best, one little less-than-five-minute quiz actually nailed my personality. I sat there thinking, “where were you, oh, Little Quiz, all these years?”

I joined a gym last year. For six months I went several times a week and did my weights program, used the elliptical trainer, and ran/walked on the indoor track. People were unfriendly. It was boring. But I stuck it out because I had a goal—to play golf, hike the dunes and eat whatever I wanted on our 25th wedding anniversary trip to Upper Michigan. And it was a blast. We had fun. I had lost weight, too. (I was following a planned eating regimen, too.) Then, it all fell apart. I was bored and no longer had an overriding goal. It’s just not enough for me to “be in shape.” Plus, I don’t enjoy working out for working out’s sake.

So, my results on this quiz says that I need “dual-purpose” exercise. Working out is only engaging when it’s more than just about my health or body. (True!) My personality type, according to Prevention’s quiz, is INSPIRATIONAL.

Here’s what it said:
“It’s about being part of a community or about exploring your inner self. To enhance your spiritual side, try listening to music to set the mood for a peaceful workout.

Best choices:
Softball
Volleyball
Soccer
Dance classes
Water aerobics
Martial arts
Trail running
Swimming
Tai chi

Leisure Activities:
Your first priority is to work regular exercise into your week. But also think about using your leisure time to burn off a few extra calories. Here are some extracurricular activities for your personality type:
Nature walks
Yoga” (end of my evaluation results)

It also reports what my obstacles will be—and again nailed it exactly according to my personality. Not stopping there, the report also gave me solutions for overcoming my obstacles. I’m telling you, I was amazed.

So, now I have to match up what is available to me and doable. There lies the problem. Several of the things listed are “group” things or require me to find someone who teaches these classes and which accepts more than senior citizens or only children. Sheesh. The only thing that might be readily available to me is trail running. I live along a river and we own a few acres of woods. However, this isn’t the safest thing. I would have to take steps (har har) to find security for my person. Or find a partner. (Not likely to find a partner in this area. Sigh. No one wants to commit to working out with me, I've found.)

But I can get a DVD to do dance and/or yoga. Maybe I will. As an expert health book reviewer for a magazine, I sometimes get these DVDs to review. Maybe something will come across my desk. Or maybe I will aggressively find one. (Or maybe you all have suggestions.)

Next is to find an eating program that will work for me. Let me tell you—I’ve tried them all(and have stacks of books, papers, diaries to prove it! Ask me anything!) This is one of my biggest weaknesses and also, my strength. And this IS the Chat ‘n’ Chew CAFÉ’, isn’t it? Eventually, I knew I would get to this—talking about food and maybe some of my hangups about it. Food is not one of those things you can just go cold turkey on quitting. Which makes it a “Catch-22” (a literary term.)

One of my friends just found out that she can control some health symptoms she is experiencing by controlling her diet intake. This is tough. She actually has been experiencing mourning over what “she can’t have,” because it changes the dynamics in her family, her cooking schedules/menus (making it more complicated) and her social atmosphere. This is a legitimate experience because not only is food used for nutrition, but it also can provide comfort, pleasure, social experience and spiritual fulfillment. We tend to focus more in diets on what NOT is there, than what we can have.

Go take the quiz. I’ll be talking about my food hang-ups and my quest for what to eat to stay healthy in the coming days, along with goals I am working on making. In this year I want to find a good stride for me. I am not Spartan. I cannot live like that. So, the key may be in my exercise routine and to find peace with myself.